


Of Cowardice and Frog-shaped Soap

by sakesushimaki



Category: Queer as Folk (US), Queer as Folk (US) RPF
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-15
Updated: 2011-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-22 15:43:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sakesushimaki/pseuds/sakesushimaki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy goes to India. Gale goes to New York. Randy is a control freak, and Gale might be his own gay counterpart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I totally made this all up. No actors or soap animals were harmed during writing this. Please don’t sue, I have no monies. :(

\----------------------------------------------------  
 **Date:** July 10 2003, 01:03 am  
 **Subject:** Confessions  
\----------------------------------------------------

Do you remember how a while back I told you that beer’s been giving me headaches?

Anyway, I did, and have been drinking alcohol-free for a while now. ……. Just as I have three months and twenty-four days ago.

I know, I’m a coward.

If it helps, I haven’t exactly been liking myself very much lately.

Happy Birthday to me,

G.

 

\---------------------------------------------------  
 **Date:** July 10 2003, 01:06 am  
 **Subject:** Re: Confessions  
\---------------------------------------------------

This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email until ~July 27, as I’m currently on vacation in India.

For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please contact Emma as well, she knows how to get hold of me.

Regards,

Randy

 

::

 

Fuck.

India. India with _Simon_. How could Gale have forgotten about that?

Randy was on seclusion-adventure-love vacation with his boyfriend. Gale had heard about it for days on end when Randy planned and booked the trip earlier this year.

Randy was on fucking vacation and not reachable while Gale was stuck ten feet deep in an emotional and identity crisis. Perfect.

Gale figured his birthday would be as good a day as any to start drinking _real_ beer again. Side-effects and all.

 

 **:: THEN ::**

 

They were sitting outside and taking a break while the set was prepared for a Diner scene. It had been strangely warm for March.

They had roughly one more week of filming ahead of them, and Gale felt himself becoming maudlin. He always did at the end of a season.

Sure, they would be back, but six months could feel pretty damn long.

Michelle was laughing at Peter’s story, her teeth sparkling in the sunlight. Randy was sitting two steps away, talking somewhat intimately to Scott, who looked rumpled and exhausted after his last scene—partly due to make-up, partly due to the long hours lately. Everyone was kind of suffering along with Scotty, who was going to town portraying the newly drug-addicted Ted. They all admired him, especially Randy.

Gale smiled at the way Randy’s fingers were slowly but steadily deforming the water bottle top while he was listening to Scott. He did stuff like that, fiddled with things unconsciously, always ending up pissed off after realizing what he’d done. Same with toothpicks, chopsticks or chopstick wrappers, napkins, and generally any other thing laying around in close proximity of wherever Randy happened to be residing in that particular moment.

He once told Gale that the reason he grew pissed was because to people who didn’t know him, his _fiddling_ came off like a nervous habit. Which it wasn’t at all.

And Randy hated the idea of people thinking he had to distract his nerves.

Scotty got up, told them goodbye for the day, and strode away into the direction of the parking lot. Gale snagged a piece of apple from Michelle’s lunch box and watched bemusedly as Randy looked down at his hands. His brows furrowed as he stared down, surveying the damage, and undoubtedly trying to figure out what to do with the half-full bottle of spring water now that he couldn’t possibly screw the lid back on.

“Fuck,” Randy muttered under his breath and stole a quick glance at Michelle and Peter, who were engrossed in a discussion about set design.

Gale went to plop down next to Randy and plucked the gnarled bottle from his hands. He leaned his back against the low banister and stretched his right leg across Randy’s lap.

“Can I have that? I’m dying of thirst.”

Randy bit his lip for a second, then nodded. “Sure.”

 

::

 

Gale didn’t feel like going to the wrap party.

He usually liked getting together with everyone, especially at the finish of a season as it was pretty much the last chance to see everybody till late September or so.

He’d just gotten off the phone with the moving company who confirmed the time Gale had set with them for Saturday. Gale figured he should start packing, but he really didn’t feel like that either.

He had actually considered keeping the house over hiatus. A string of unwelcome logic had forced itself through his brain, though, and made him realize how stupid it would be to pay rent for a house that stood empty for anything from five to seven months each year. He couldn’t stay either, even if he wanted to. He had three roles lined up. He would be busy.

For some unknown reason, the wrap party was taking place at RonDan’s residence outside of the city. It was completely out of the way and they obviously just wanted to show off their fucking mansion. Gale mentally added two points to the list of reasons for not going.

Unfortunately, he was already here. He was leaning against the hood of his truck, blowing smoke rings into the slowly darkening air. On the few occasions he’d dared to google himself, he found out that the whole world knew American Spirit was his favorite cigarette brand.

Gale had never touched an American Spirit in his life.

He wondered if Randy was already there. His car was nowhere in sight, but that didn’t really mean anything. Peter’s apartment was close to Randy’s, he could have taken him. Knowing Randy and his semi-ambitious world-saving plans, he’d probably suggested they ride together.

Lucas, one of the cameramen, walked past him to the door and Gale thought it was as good a time as any to join the party. He saw the entry door open and was about to make himself known— …when fingers curled around his wrist and he was dragged behind the other side of the car.

He and Randy waited there until Lucas closed the door behind him.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Randy rolled his eyes. “Shut up, I hate this place.”

“Yeah,” Gale sighed. “I bet they have awesome food, though.”

“Whatever, come on.”

They walked around the back of the house. A deck chair stood in the grass next to the drained in-ground pool. The yard was huge.

Randy threw himself down on the beach furniture and the back part of the chair promptly rattled down until it was parallel to the ground.

“Ow.”

“You okay?” Gale chuckled and sat down on the foot end carefully. He drew the zipper of his jacket up completely and waited for Randy to say something.

“Do you have anything on you?”

Gale supposed that had been rhetorical. An evening at RonDan’s? Of course he came prepared.

He lit the joint and handed it to Randy. “Move your ass,” he said and laid down, squeezing his body between Randy and the cold metal of the arm rest.

The damp crackle of the fire eating weeds and rolled paper immediately calmed him as he looked up into the sky. There were clouds, but they weren’t thick and made way to a bright bunch of stars every couple of seconds. He’d meant to look up on the most popular constellations so often, but he never had.

Randy tapped his forearm and Gale took a long drag.

“It feels different this time,” Randy said.

In his periphery, Gale could see the smoke escaping from Randy’s mouth.“It does.” Another reason why Gale didn’t want to leave. This hiatus _did_ feel different.

“Do you know why?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither.”

Gale turned his head to see Randy move his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Randy would get it cut soon. He kind of wished he wouldn’t.

Suddenly Randy turned to lie on his side. “Do you know which song they will have in that final street scene we shot yesterday?”

“No? And how do _you_ know?” Why did Randy always _know_ everything?

“I talked to Christy,” he explained.

Oh. “Oh. So, which is it?”

“New Order’s _True Faith_.”

“No shit? I love that song.”

“I know.” Randy smiled and Gale turned on his side as well.

“Christy said that they would probably try to find a remix version, though.”

They traded the joint until it was down to a tiny butt and Gale threw it into the empty pool. He dared Randy to say anything. Randy didn’t.

Gale started humming, and after a while he remembered some of the words. _“I don’t care ‘cause I’m not there,”_ he sang, low.

 _“And I don’t care if I’m there tomorrow,”_ Randy proceeded and lay back on his back, staring up into the sky.

“Rands?”

“Yah?”

“I think it’s _I don’t care if I’m **here** tomorrow.”_

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does, really.”

Randy mumbled something and smushed his face into the small expanse of neck left between Gale’s collar and ear.

Gale put his arm behind Randy’s head and didn’t do anything to stop the blond hair from tickling his cheek and ear.

He really wished Randy wouldn’t cut it.

Then, Gale remembered the commercial of that weird vacuum-haircutting machine that sucks the hair in and then cuts it. It was totally crazy. Totally 90s. He told Randy, and they both started laughing and giggling.

 _“Just look how fun and easy it is to get a precisioned, layered haircut in the convenience of your own home!”_ Gale imitated, remembering the ridiculous commercial.

 _“Don’t be fooled by imitators that require special hair-cutting skill!”_ Randy added, and Gale got a few strands of blond hair in his mouth from laughing so hard. _“Listen to_ … listen…” Randy had to break off to catch a breath. “Wait, what was that thing’s name again?”

“Uh… _Flowbee_?”

Randy cracked up, gasping into Gale’s shoulder. “Shit, you’re right. God, how bad were those commercials? _Listen to what Louise Schmidt, 53, has to say about the Flowbee!”_

 _“I love my Flowbee!”_ Gale chirped.

 _“You sure do, Mrs. Schmidt, you sure do.”_

 _“Take my husband, take my kids, but don’t take my Flowbee!”_ Gale exclaimed, all in low-laid-drama commercial mode.

“Randy? Gale? That you guys?” Peter had followed the sound of laughter and giggles. He knew he shouldn’t have left Randy when he said he’d be in in five minutes.

“No.”

Peter came to stand next to them a few seconds later. “My, aren’t you two precious. All stoned and freezing your asses off.”

Gale and Randy both glared at Peter and told him to fuck off.

Peter just laughed in his I-don’t-need-drugs-to-be-in-a-good-mood way and tapped both their heads. “Come on, you potheads. You can’t hide forever.”

 

 **:: NOW ::**

 

Gale was walking down Lafayette and New Order’s _True Faith_ kept following him in his head. It had been doing so for weeks now.

He’d planned for his short stay in New York to be filled with Randy. Seeing him. Talking to him. Yes, talking to him, above everything. Sure, technically he’d come to get everything ready with Jennifer for _Particles_ , but it hadn’t been his main motivation. Jennifer had even told him he didn’t absolutely need to show up before early August, but hey, Gale was nothing if not committed to his work.

He wanted to smack himself for not thinking about his choice of date more carefully beforehand. How could he have forgotten about fucking Bollywood?

Gale was rounding a corner when— of all the people in this world, or in New York, he ran into Simon. Those were some seriously fucked-up odds. Even more fucked-up since Simon was supposed to be in India.

“Gale, hey! What brings you here?”

Gale mustered up a little smile. “Work.” Partly.

“Oh, of course.”

This was the part of a running-into-someone-you-kind-of-know conversation that would have you either saying goodbye and hurrying on as if you were busy and important, or that has you make some generic and shallow request about the other’s life.

Gale was set on seeming busy and important, he’d be damned if Simon should have the upper hand in this. But shit, Gale had to ask.

“So, I’d actually have you located in India just about now?”

Simon laughed and Gale was forced to reluctantly remember that the guy was actually pretty decent. “Oh, no, I decided not to go. You know, after all that happened. It seemed right to stay.”

“What do you mean, _after all that happened_?” Did Simon know? Had Randy told? Was—

“Well, after the break-up and all that, I realized that I mostly only agreed to come on this trip for him. It has always been _his_ trip, you know?”

Oh. “Oh.” Wait, what?

“Well, I gotta go, I have a lunch meeting. Good seeing you, Gale.”

“Yeah, bye.” Damn it, of course Simon was more busy and important than him.

Gale stood on his spot at the street corner for a couple of minutes, vaguely aware that the bag lady kept looking at him funny. Even when he finally remembered how his legs worked, his mind was still running relay.

Suddenly, there was a whole new realm of possibility.

 

::

 

Okay, first things first: Randy had broken up with Simon. Or Simon had broken up with Randy. More importantly, Simon had obviously thought Gale knew. All right, so maybe it wasn’t _that_ important. Gale was still processing.

First, he was pissed. Randy should have fucking told him.

Then, Gale was concerned. And now Randy was tramping through Hindu swamp land by himself? A whiter than white, not exactly _buff_ man, with an expensive multi-functional camera dangling from his neck that just screamed wealthy tourist?

Finally, Gale was hopeful. That crazy control freak-like automated response had read _till July 27_ , which means Randy would be coming home in only five days or so.

And he wasn’t with Simon anymore.

 

 **:: THEN ::**

 

Nobody at the wrap party found their _Flowbee_ jokes funny. Gale didn’t understand how they couldn’t.

Ron and Dan kept giving him and Randy angry looks for interrupting their speeches with pointing out completely random things throughout the house that would be _included in the delivery if you order within the next 24 hours!_

“This pretentious male bust with a market value of $3,000!”

Randy opened the hall closet door. “Complete with _this_ feather duster to clean it in a jiff whenever you’re entertaining!”

As they weren’t being chastised by Dan or Ron this time, they realized that the tour of the first floor had moved on. Gale finished off his second bottle of beer and put it down next to the bust on the small table.

He studied the artwork for a minute before looking up and realizing Randy was gone. He saw the tour group, complete with Thea, Michelle, Scotty, and a bunch of other crew members, rounding a corner. After a quick evaluation, he decided that Randy wouldn’t have gone to catch up with them.

Gale cleared his throat. “Marco?”

“Polo!” came from an ajar door down the hallway.

Gale hesitated when he stood in front of the door, feeling 50 percent certain that the word _bathroom_ had been dropped earlier when Dan pointed into that direction.

“Rands?” he asked, fingers just barely connecting with the wood.

“Gale, you have to come see this.”

The door was pushed open and Randy grinned at him from inside the tiled room.

“Wow. Does that come with the _Flowbee Precision Haircutting System_ , too?”

 

::

 

They were still sitting in the empty, gigantic bathtub two hours later. Gale had gone to get beer—and wine for Randy—once, but other than that, they hadn’t moved.

Gale’s feet were barely touching Randy’s as they sat across from each other, that’s how long the tub was. It was fucking wide as well, complete with ominous recesses and jets everywhere.

“No, no, no, you can’t use _the same_ and _the very same_ synonymously,” Randy insisted, tapping the wine bottle with a frog-shaped piece of soap for emphasis.

“Of course I can! What you are getting at is the difference between _the same_ and _similar_.”

Randy shook his head. “I might be tipsy, Gale, but I do have second grade semantics down.”

Gale sighed and sunk a little deeper into the tub. “Well, _I_ ’m not the one who wanted to discuss this. Just sayin’.”

“Look, let’s try this approach. Schopenhauer said that—”

“There you are!” Scotty stood in the door, knob still in his hand.

Gale tipped his beer bottle in greeting and Randy wiggled the little soap frog at Scott.

“Get in, Scotty.” Gale waved him over.

“Er, yeah, no, thanks.” He kept standing in the doorway, looking from Gale to Randy and back.

“So, anyway,” Randy started and resumed pulling on the label of the Merlot bottle. “Schopenhauer says that every—”

“Give me the frog.”

“Gale, I’m kind of in the middle of talking.”

“Schopenhauer, yes, whatever.” Gale pulled his lips in. He didn’t use to do that pre-Queer as Folk. “Now let me see that frog.”

“Why?” Randy pouted.

“Because it was one of the gifts I received _for ordering within 24 hours_ , duh.”

Scotty watched as they both cracked up and tossed the soap animal around. He shook his head. “Why does everything feel like a college party with you two?”

“Because,” Randy concentrated. “We’re funny. And drunk.”

“And because Randy recites Schopenhauer,” Gale added thoughtfully.

“Right. So, um, you’re gonna be alright up here for another half hour?”

Randy wrinkled his nose. “Uh, yeah, why?”

“Because in half an hour, I’m coming to get you guys and then I’m driving you home. You have your truck here, right, Gale?”

Gale wanted to protest, but in the end only confirmed with a nod.

“Good. I came here by taxi, so that’s set,” Scott decided.

“But what about Randy’s car?” Gale said it as if he was outraged.

“Jesus, Gale! Shh!” Scott peeked out into the hallway.

Gale felt toes tapping against the heel of his foot. “I came with Peter,” Randy explained.

“Yeah, I thought you might.”

Somewhere between Scotty rolling his eyes and Scotty leaving, Randy had crawled over to Gale’s side and started wrestling the frog from Gale’s hand.

They managed to break it in half, and Randy sank back down next to Gale in defeat.

“You broke our frog. It was symbolic.”

“I’m sorry.” Gale pulled Randy close, his fingers playing in the long hair at Randy’s nape. He didn’t want to argue just whose fault it was. Instead, he pushed through the few inches between them and kissed the pouty lips softly.

Randy had his eyes closed and sighed, his mouth tugging up on one side.

Gale found that funny and kind of cute, so he leaned forward to press his lips to Randy’s once more. And once more. And again.

And Randy’s mouth opened just a tiny bit wider with every smack of lips and Gale started lingering.

He didn’t want to think about that and searched to distract himself from how soft everything suddenly was and how nice Randy’s tongue felt as it swept out to brush his mouth.

Distraction found, Gale’s fingers rubbed the skin on Randy’s lower back, just where his sweater had ridden up. Gale felt that weird, small patch of fine hair there and had to smile. He hid his amusement in Randy’s neck before moving his mouth up again.

And then it wasn’t funny anymore.

Naked feet squeaked against ceramic, tongues pushed and rubbed against each other, and fingers caressed skin.

Gale tried to remember if he had ever moaned while just kissing before.

There was a sudden loud squeal as Randy’s hand slipped on the bottom of the tub and his head clunked softly against the ceramic wall. Randy calmly assured he was okay, but the energy had shifted.

Gale still didn’t want to start thinking just yet.

Luckily, Randy didn’t seem to either, for he pressed one last aimless kiss to Gale’s neck and lay his head on Gale’s chest while closing his eyes.

Then, they waited for Scott to come get them.

 

::

 

Gale didn’t know why they were suddenly both at his place. Something about lost keys? It had all been a blur.

Much less did Gale know how they had landed in his bed, Randy’s pliable body and damp skin under his.

Gale learned then and there what people meant by living in the moment. His mind was free from consequences.

Instead, he was filled with feeling — lust and longing and _god yes_. The body arching against him was such a glorious countervailing power; he wanted to live in the moment forever. The moment in which the laws of physics ruled in perfect balance.

He panted into the mouth beneath him, straining, shaking, trying desperately to delay the imminent end.

It came with a force Gale couldn’t have expected.

In the morning, Randy would leave as soon as he had found his clothes and called the cab service. They would try to make light of the situation and everything would be blamed on the alcohol.

Three months and twenty-four days later, Gale would write an email.

 

::


	2. Chapter 2

**:: NOW ::**

 

Los Angeles had never quite felt like home. The people felt unreal, the weather too hot, the air too stuffy. Everything was plastic.

L.A. was for convenience. Plastic was convenient.

Still, when he talked about _going home_ or _arriving home_ , people started to expect this to mean L.A., and after a while, Gale became accustomed to it. _Home_ had become nothing but a word.

So, when he got back to his house in Los Feliz, he was supposedly home. Up here, in the hills, he breathed a little easier than he did downtown or in Hollywood. Gale got his mail, opened the door, and was welcomed by the faint strums of guitar music.

He sighed. Kim was still there.

Gale loved her, yes, but she couldn’t hide out here forever. He’d been glad to provide housing for her self-imposed exile when she had shown up on his front stoop, and he’d told her she could stay for as long as she wanted. Nevertheless, it was time to get over her break-up with Joshua already and head back up to Canada.

Kim and Gale had tried for a relationship, too, for about half a year. While the sex had been great, they soon realized that they were too alike to function as a couple. They were much better as friends and Gale had been happy for her when she found Josh. Being an ex of hers though, Gale had been feeling kind of guilty all the time she’d been staying with him. It was unreasonable, yes, but he couldn’t help it. When he had told her about his trip to New York, she was playing with the thought of going back herself and Gale had felt somewhat relieved.

Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge and deciding to leave the unpacking till later, he went to find Kim.

“Hey! So, did you see him?”

Gale had never uttered a word of what he was doing in New York to her. He hated being so transparent sometimes.

Kim just laughed and told him to stop fretting, and that “Oh, by the way, someone with a familiar voice called on the land line a couple of days ago,” but that “He hung up before I could ask his name.”

A cough, and Gale almost chocked on his water. “W-when was that?”

“Tuesday, I think.”

“The connection was pretty bad, and I didn’t understand everything. But I figured they’d try on your cell anyway.” She tied her wild curls together with a green band, then smiled. “Who calls land lines anymore?”

Gale knew one person who did. And no, they had not called him on his cell phone.

 

::

 

\----------------------------------------------------   
**Date:** July 24 2003, 10:08 pm  
 **Subject:** You called?  
\----------------------------------------------------

Rands,

I know you called. Kim didn’t realize it was you, but I have no doubt it was.

She’s been staying out here with me for a couple of weeks, getting a breather. We’re not back together. I’m not fucking her. She is a friend, nothing more.

Talk to me. Call me. I don’t know how to reach you.

This hiatus feels like forever.

Please,

G.

 

\---------------------------------------------------  
 **Date:** July 24 2003, 10:11 pm  
 **Subject:** Re: You called?  
\---------------------------------------------------

This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email until ~July 27, as I’m currently on vacation in India.

For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please contact Emma as well, she knows how to get hold of me.

Regards,

Randy

 

::

 

Gale wasn’t an easily enraged man. Nevertheless, the Freddy Mercury ashtray he kept on the computer desk flew into million tiny pieces that night.

A couple of days later, Gale drove Kim to the airport. He said goodbye to her under one of those gigantic screens that listed all departures. When the readout next to _UA 8322 Toronto_ rolled to _boarding_ , Kim was already out of sight. Staring at the display, Gale felt a light tug.

The drive home was too short. He had been almost thankful for the semi-traffic jam earlier that gave him extra time to think, but in the end, it still wasn’t enough.

Gale liked to think in the car. He liked thinking in his truck better than in the compact sports car he drove through L.A., but he had learned to be more flexible regarding his pondering vehicles.

Gale didn’t know how he could remember everything from that night so vividly. Part of him was grateful for the memories; part of him was disappointed because it proved just how much of a liar he’d been by blaming it on other influences.

But he knew better now, didn’t he? He spent the last couple of months slowly coming to terms with what had happened, and he was ready to at least talk about it.

Why couldn’t Randy just talk to him? Why couldn’t Randy just… be where _he_ was?

Gale was feeling insecure, frustrated, and left alone. He longed to feel safe. Most of all, he wanted to feel sure in his skin again. He’d always felt so comfortable with himself, he never learned to appreciate that feeling. Now he did.

Gale wanted to go back to Toronto. Shooting for Season 4 wouldn’t start till the end of next month, but he longed for the city’s familiarity.

He had filming in New York in a couple of weeks, but couldn’t he just fly there from Toronto as well? He would have to contact the real estate agent and look if his house would be ready earlier. He would have to get his truck out of the storage. But it was certainly doable.

By the time he arrived home, the idea had evolved into a decision.

Toronto was the next best thing to feeling safe. Toronto would soothe his soul.

 

 **:: THEN ::**

 

“I can’t go to bed smelling like wine and pot and the Barbie house!”

“Rands, it’s not even _your_ bed. I will wash the sheets tomorrow, okay?”

“No, no, that’s not it. I just can’t do that.”

“Randy, you’re drunk, we’re both tired. Let’s just go to bed.”

Reason never got you points with Randy when he was tipsy. Sure enough, Gale was finding sweats and a shirt for Randy ten minutes later while he was in the shower.

When Randy’s semi-dried hair smelled like shampoo and pure, clean Randy, they stood in front of Gale’s wall-long closet, searching for an extra blanket. Gale didn’t use even half of the closet space, but had a habit of dividing his clothes and all he kept in there up into several portions, so half of the closet wouldn’t stand empty.

They had each tried several doors before finally finding the blankets. The second one withheld Randy’s smell-test—Gale didn’t notice much difference—and he bunched it up under his arm for the trip to the guest room.

“You don’t even seem too inebriated anymore,” Randy commented.

Gale reasoned that “I’m not such a lightweight as you.”

Five seconds later, he was tackled to bed, his shirt pushed up as Randy tickled him.

He was still wheezing when Randy suddenly pressed a kiss to his chest. Gale was about to laugh but then realized Randy didn’t share his amusement anymore. At all.

Not daring to look down, Gale just lay there, waiting for _something_ , while he tried to calm his breathing. He felt wet tips of Randy’s hair tapping his skin, breath spilling out over his chest, and his body reacting with involuntarily forming goosebumps.

Slowly, Gale felt fingers claw into the bunched shirt under his chin, and soft lips connecting with the skin just beside his nipple, over and over again.

It only felt weird for a moment. A moment during which Gale’s stomach drew in and his hands fisted aimlessly into sheets and pillows.

Then, Randy moved lower and started tonguing and mouthing one rib after the other, and Gale realized he was hard. He felt warm and amazing and it didn’t feel the least bit weird or wrong anymore.

After another minute, he pulled Randy up because he suddenly wanted to kiss him like he wanted to breathe. Then there was Randy’s hair tickling his cheeks and Randy’s mouth tasting like wet warmth and toothpaste and three years worth of secret dreaming, and Gale didn’t believe he would ever feel this good again.

And when Randy’s palms slid low and started pushing his pajama bottoms down, it all felt so _not wrong_ , that Gale thought it to be everything he ever wanted.

And he felt even better.

 

 **:: NOW ::**

 

August was slowly drawing to an end, and still not a word from Randy. Gale was slowly going out of his mind.

He had tracked every flight coming in from Mumbai, New Delhi and Calcutta between July 26th and July 29th. Randy simply _had_ to be home in New York by then.

Two weeks ago, after filming for _Particles_ had just finished and Gale had put off booking his return flight to Toronto till the last minute, Gale got drunk. For real, this time.

He had stood in front of Randy’s door at 1 am that night, banging, shouting, pleading. He only had left after Mrs. Rosenthal from down the hallway threatened to call the police for the second time.

After three and a half hours of sleep, Gale had had a taxi drive him to the airport and he caught a last minute—and _early_ —flight out of the city. The ticket had cost a fucking fortune.

Sitting on the plane, there had been just enough time to type a subject into the email head before the flight attendant asked him to turn off his phone. Gale hit _send_ anyway, figuring that the one line would suffice.

When he had checked his inbox back at home, he almost knew what he would find.

 

\---------------------------------------------------  
 **Date:** August 13 2003, 06:11 am  
 **Subject:** Re: Where the fuck are you?!  
\---------------------------------------------------

This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email until ~July 27, as I’m currently on vacation in India.

For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please contact Emma as well, she knows how to get hold of me.

Regards,

Randy

 

::

 

Gale didn’t know what he’d done in the remaining two weeks till now other than be miserable. No amount of pot could chase the dull ache, the loneliness, the uncertainty away—God knows he’d tried.

Some days, Gale had grown so desperate, he’d almost called his mom. He also worked out more than usual and actually used that tanning bed the previous tenant had left.

Finally, a ray of non-artificial light cut through the darkness. Scotty called. Scotty was back in Toronto. Scotty would help.

They made arrangements for Gale to come to Scott’s for dinner the next day, leaving Gale pathetically disappointed over having to wait a day to see him. He wanted to tell Scotty everything. About him and Randy. Scott knew them both pretty well, after all. He wanted to talk about what had happened that night, about how he had been feeling.

He wanted to say some things out loud.

The next day, heading towards Scott’s apartment at 9 am, Gale had come to terms with his wretchedness.

“Gale!” a groggy Mr. Lowell greeted him. “I could’ve sworn we weren’t scheduled for another eight hours or so?”

A bone-crushing hug and a mumbled apology was the only answer he got before Gale threw himself on his couch.

Scott sighed, resigned himself to his fate, put on his robe, and started the coffee machine. “Not mocking my grandpa attire?” he wondered, sitting down on his recliner. “Okay, talk.”

And Gale did. In fact, Gale was sure Scotty had never heard him talk that much in one go.

He had watched Scott’s face go from irritated to shocked to frowning and back to shocked again, until Gale decided he didn’t want to see anymore. He spent the last ten minutes of his narration with closed eyes.

The turning of the wheels in Scotty’s head was practically audible. While that fact had Gale nervous, he was also very relieved to finally have it all out.

“So,… you might be gay then?”

Gale hadn’t thought about that. “I… I don’t know.” He felt like such a loser. “I’ve never been attracted to men, but I think I’ve always kind of been attracted to Randy,” he had to admit. His mind ran through three years in rewind, calling up feelings he might have filed under a wrong register. “Only, I guess I taught myself that that’s just a reaction to having been so close to him, physically, while shooting. And also, close to him in a friendship way.”

Scott rubbed his forehead and suddenly Gale felt bad for dragging him into this. He wanted to—

“The lines blurred.”

“Huh?”

“The lines— Look, you and Randy made out in front of the camera on an, at least, weekly basis. Then, you also spent most of your free time together. It’s obvious that you’ve got great chemistry on both counts, and switching the levers between those two kinds of intensity you guys had, or have… it would only be plausible for the lines to become blurred.”

This made sense. In a way. In an unsettling way. “Are you saying that my feelings for Randy might not be real? It’s just my brain not being able to separate?”

“Jeez, Gale. That’s not what I meant. You’re just like Randy.” Scott rolled his eyes.

“What?” Gale’s throat felt dry.

“Nothing, just err, remembering some method acting thing I once talked about with him.”

Oh. “So, what are you saying?” Gale was starving for some input.

“I’m saying that, since the whole work/private life situation was so mashed up between you two, you didn’t realize that you… well, maybe… you fell in love with him.” Scott paused, probably semi-expecting Gale to object.

Gale just blinked at him. He’d gotten to the same result before on his own. Even if through a slightly different thought process.

“So, it could be possible that whatever feelings you developed for Randy you somehow assigned to Brian feeling for Justin. Do you…” Scotty cracked his knuckles. “Do you know what I mean?”

Gale did. “But what about Randy?” he asked. “What do you think is up with him? Should I just…” Leave it be? Give up on what has become his everything? Be heartbroken for the rest of his life?

“You know, maybe,” Scotty started, his index finger rubbing his right eyebrow. “Maybe there’s a chance Randy feels the same way about you, Gale.”

He knew he couldn’t afford it. It was poison. Still, Gale couldn’t help but feel the sweet smell of hope flooding his lungs. He allowed himself to dwell for one moment… then he remembered. How Randy refused to talk to him, how Randy left him hanging in the air.

That fact remained. It lived in his inbox.

Gale’s respiratory system felt slightly constricted again. He took a couple of deep breaths and turned to lie on his side.

There were a couple of empty glasses sitting on the coffee table, and chopstick wrappers from that Japanese place Scotty loved lay bunched up in neat Z-fold. Gale closed his eyes for a moment and—

He shot up, his heart slamming against his ribcage.

“Gale?” Scotty inquired, concern in his voice.

Gale stared at the table, searching for the last piece of evidence. There, in the right corner, lay a wine bottle label, torn into several pieces.

“Randy was here.” It wasn’t a question. “When? …H-how?” he stammered.

Scott rubbed his forehead. “Last night. I’m sorry, Gale. He’s been in Toronto for a couple of days already. He made me swear not to tell you.”

“For… _a couple of days_?”

Scotty rolled his tongue in his mouth. “Yeah. Look, Gale,… Gale, wait!”

 

::

 

The roads were slippery from the rain and Gale forced himself to let up on the gas. What use was it if he killed himself now before he got to tell Randy what a complete and utter asshole he was?

Randy’s hair was a little shorter. Just a bit, on the sides. He looked amazing.

 _He was sorry_ , Randy said. He had wanted to do what’s best. He hadn’t planned on being incommunicado for that long. He hadn’t known what to do.

All the while, Randy stayed perfectly calm, a sharp contrast to how Gale was feeling.

“You’re a total shit, you know that? I’m not lying when I tell you that the fucking bridge near my house became more alluring each day.”

“Don’t talk like that.” That calm, well-adjusted tone in his voice was unnerving.

“What do you even care? You sure as hell didn’t seem to for the past two months!” The hurt flashing in Randy’s eyes distracted Gale. Only for a second, however. “And what the fuck happened to you? Why are you so… so collected and quiet? Did you become a Buddhist monk while you were over there?”

“I went to _India_ , Gale, not to China.”

“Well, _Hindu_ monk then.” Gale liked China better. He’d always wanted to go. “Do you have any idea what you did to me? And now you won’t even show any kind of emotion? What the fuck have you been playing, Randy?” Gale shook his head. “I can’t— I don’t understand!”

“I was giving you an easy way out, you idiot! I thought, that if we let some grass grow over the thing, we could go back to, you know, being friends.”

“An _easy way out_? Are you kidding me?” Gale couldn’t believe how Randy’s mind worked sometimes. “Let me tell you something, you control freak. What you gave me was anything but easy. You left me completely fucking alone, Rand. I needed you, I—… I needed you like _nothing ever_ and you didn’t even react. Regardless of what had happened, you were still supposed to be my best friend. And best friends don’t treat each other like that.” Gale was angry. The image of his valued Freddy ashtray smashing and breaking against the wall flashed up in his mind.

“Look, this wasn’t exactly easy for me either, okay? You dropped a bomb on me, Gale. A fucking bomb. After all this time… y-you have no idea…”

“It was a shitty thing to do. I know that. But I apologized a thousand times, I… did you even check your voice mail?”

“Gale, I needed time. I had to somehow get to a point where I could go back to our friendship.”

“How could you just go ahead and _assume_ that I would want to go back to just being friends?”

After having a taste of perfection, who _could_?

Randy blinked in confusion. Gale knew what he was thinking. Randy’s inner obsessive and pessimistic control freak obviously hadn’t calculated with that.

“I didn’t— I hadn’t thought that you would… I felt like the biggest asshole for taking advantage of you like that, what with you supposedly being drunk and all, and when you wrote that you hadn’t been, I didn’t know what…” Randy’s fingers waved through his hair. “I didn’t even think it to be an option that you… I…”

“Well, you should have. Or at least asked me.”

Randy looked up and stared at Gale. “Are you saying you want to be with me?”

“After what a shit you’ve been?” It was a reflex. It also wasn’t true. Gale gulped. “Yeah. Very much so.”

Randy’s eyes went wide before he shook his head.

Suddenly Gale remembered something. “Why did you break up with Simon?”

“I… what?”

“You heard me. Why did you break up with him?”

Looking at the floor, Randy said, “Because I realized that he was just… I mean,…” He took a deep breath, then forced himself to look up at Gale. “Simon started out as a friend gone _one-time bed companion_ gone _well-why-not_. But I realized that he’s been a cop-out for a while now. And that’s a shitty thing to uphold when the other actually loves you.”

“I see.” Gale wished he had had something to do with Randy’s realization.

“Gale, are you even gay? I mean,…”

“I don’t know. Why is that important?”

“Because I don’t want to let myself believe in something— _fall_ for something—that could end up just being… a glitch.”

“A _glitch_?” Gale spat the word.

“Look, you… I can’t do this. I can’t invest anything when the chances are I’ll end up getting hurt in the process. You’re too… _much_ for me to recover from, Gale.” Randy closed his eyes and shook his head. “And you say these things without even having the basic stuff figured out. I simply can’t take such a risk.”

“I _have_ the basic stuff figured out! I know that I want to be with you. I know that we’re amazing together, no matter if we’re sitting in a tacky bathtub reciting stupid infomercials or if you make me come so hard I want to cry. Why isn’t that enough?”

Randy gaped at him.

Gale wanted to slap him, then press him against the wall, then kiss him.

“We should think some more about this, okay? I need time to… Let’s discuss this again in a couple of days and we’ll see where we stand, okay?”

Sitting in his car just two minutes later, watching the windshield wipers move back and forth, Gale wasn’t quite sure what had happened.

It didn’t stop raining for days.

 

::

 

Tommy had been Gale’s best friend when they were kids. He was also his cousin. And he was also gay.

They had been so much alike back then, it was uncanny. They had shared the same taste in sports, in music, in cigarettes—the latter probably more a result of only having the brand of Tommy’s dad at their disposal. They ditched church-organized events together, running off when the other kids weren’t looking and when their mothers were too busy showing off their cake creations to the community or talking to the reverend. They invented a secret sign language they used to communicate during mass on Sundays.

They had started drifting apart when they headed off to different colleges, and in that way nobody plans for it or wants it, they just sort of lost touch.

Now they only saw each other once a year, at Christmas, at home. Gale’s mom gathered the family for the annual gorging on traditional Southern cuisine and for not mentioning Gale’s _television job_ or asking after Tommy’s _private life_.

In a way, Gale had always thought of Tommy as his gay counterpart.

Then there came _Queer as Folk_. And Randy. And then there came that night of the wrap party.

And now, Gale thought that maybe, just maybe, _Gale_ was Gale’s gay counterpart.

The women had never felt like a lie. He’d enjoyed them, maybe even loved them. So, what if he was bi? Wasn’t that more likely?

Whatever he was, gay, bi, straight with that one epic exception to the rule—Gale knew where he belonged. For the first time in his life he just _knew_.

It wasn’t him that needed convincing.

 

::

 

When Randy would be brooding over his script the next day, slurping his coffee and nursing a hangover that had not the slightest bit to do with alcohol, he would hear a soft knock on his front door.

Outside, he would find a little frog sitting in the rain. Randy would pick him up from his place in the muddy green right next to the plastered footway and find a note around his neck.

 

 _~ Now I fear you've left me standing  
In a world that's so demanding ~_

 _I named this little guy Nietzsche. (Schopenhauer was a bore.) I thought you might like him._

 _I don’t know about the whole frog/prince thing, but Flowbee headquarters said you could always trade him in for me._

 _Whatever I am, I am best with you._

 _P.S. See what you’ve made me do? I’m quoting lyrics, Rands. New Order would not be proud._

 

Randy would pick up the slimy rain-soaked piece of animal-shaped soap, take it inside and sit it on the radiator to dry.

He would have to start all over with the script the next day.

 

::


	3. Chapter 3

**:: NOW ::**

 

The next time Gale saw Randy, it was on the first day of shooting Season four.

They only had two short scenes together that day. One was in the loft, where they had a talk about Brian selling it to pay off his debt, and there’d been a short, very moderate kiss scene. Never before had Gale felt nervous about a kiss, let alone about such a timid one.

 _“It was love to me,”_ Justin said, and Gale put a safety net over his own feelings. Brian had to kiss Justin then.

Gale improvised a little forehead touching—letting Randy’s smell fill him three precious seconds longer.

The director commented on how heartfelt it looked and Gale wanted to go home and hide under fifteen layers of blankets in his bed.

To his amazement, his wish was granted. With a twist, though. Of course.

They barely got anything more done that day as there were some technical problems that forced the crew to halt filming for a couple of days; right in the middle of an episode shoot no less.

The forecast predicted another succession of showers, and Gale spent most of those two days in bed.

That doesn’t mean he didn’t suffer from insomnia.

 

 **:: THEN ::**

 

Gale woke up to a faint beeping sound outside.

He glanced at the clock and realized it was 5 am. Right, today was garbage collection. And once again he’d forgotten to put his out.

Rolling over, he froze in shock.

Randy. Randy lying in his bed, sleeping. Sleeping after— after they’d had _sex_.

Holy shit, it actually happened. This time, it hadn’t been one of those dreams.

He’d slept with Randy. He’d fucked him. He’d fucked him, and kissed him and it had been amazing. He’d felt Randy shake around him, he himself quivering and releasing his orgasm into Randy’s perfect body.

It had felt absolutely and unadulteratedly pristine.

Randy had been drunk, but Gale hadn’t. The beer at the Barbie house had been imported and alcohol-free. The only thing working for Gale was that he’d smoked pot a couple of hours previous to landing in bed with Randy. Maybe he had still been a bit stoned.

Gale rubbed his hands over his face. He craved nicotine badly. Judging by the light snore, Randy was deep asleep. But still, he knew that Randy’s freakishly sensitive nose would notice the smell and wake him up. Gale couldn’t risk that.

The naked back next to him lay slightly curved, the duvet only covering Randy from the waist down. Gale would never forget how that back had bowed beneath him, how his own fingers dug into the slightly damp skin.

His fingers itched and Gale bit his lip. He should have known that he had always touched Randy more than others. His tactile senses had always been on overload near him.

An arm stretched out, fingers reaching for soft skin. Fingertips traveled up to the shoulder and back down again, around the waist. Randy sighed, and Gale chose to interpret that as consent.

He started scooting across the sheets, carefully, slowly—the slightly lumpy mattress feeling like a minefield.

Gale just wanted to test, wanted to know how it felt, waking up not next to, but _with_ Randy. He moved forward, folding his body around Randy’s. Chest against back, crotch against ass, thighs against thighs.

It felt too good, much too good. It could only be perishable.

There was no way to know what would happen in the morning. Gale didn’t want to think about it. There was nothing he could do.

He let his palm stroke down Randy’s smooth side before reaching up and winding his arm around Randy’s. He felt his heart beat reverberate from the skin pressed against his chest and he buried his nose in the shaggy hair.

What Gale _could_ do though, was steal a few more hours from the night.

Randy would never know.

 

 **:: NOW ::**

 

Gale didn’t know how he’d come to think of the frog thing as such a good idea in the first place. But when he had stood in that store a couple of weeks ago, all bleary eyed and pathetic, he saw the animal-shaped soap selection and acted on pure impulse.

He’d remembered a night in an empty bath tub, Randy smelling so fucking nice, and mumbling something about a soap frog being symbolic.

Five minutes later, Gale had left the store with two cartons of cigarettes and a little soap animal.

He was back at that store now.

He felt the sales clerk eyeing him as he headed straight to that one aisle. She asked if he was decorating, Gale answered he was in the middle of a project.

On his way home, he found a piece of paper in his glove compartment, scribbled down his next note, and left the frog on Randy’s doormat.

 

 _~ I can't tell you where we're going  
I guess there’s just no way of knowing ~_

 _This is Rocky, because he’s brave and has a mean right hook._

 _That bridge, Rands? Jump with me._

 

::

 

The next evening, Gale sat on his porch, waiting. He hadn’t been this nervous since… since he didn’t even know when.

Tomorrow was going to be the day they started shooting again, finish up Episode 401. Gale knew the script, knew his lines, and yet, he wasn’t sure he could pull it off. It all depended on how the next couple of hours would go.

Randy had called 45 minutes ago. 44 minutes and 27 seconds ago, if the call log was to be trusted. Randy had said he wanted to come over and talk. Gale had just dumbly agreed, trying to cover the speaker of his phone a little so Randy wouldn’t hear the noises his marathon-running heart was making. They hadn’t set a time. At least Gale couldn’t remember that they did.

Consequently, he sat on his porch to make sure Randy wouldn’t change his mind on the last minute and turn around once he got here. It made sense to Gale. The rain was rolling down the overhang, and he flicked the stub of his cigarette out into the weather.

The soft hum of Randy’s economical European car stood out against the prattling noise of the raindrops. Gale closed his eyes and listened.

He waited twenty seconds, the longest twenty seconds in his life, before he heard a door opening. Another five seconds, a door closing. Squishy footfall against drenched lawn. The distinct sound of wet Chucks thumping on the front steps.

And then: nothing. Just the rain.

“Hey.”

Gale opened his eyes. “Hey.”

They went inside. Gale offered coffee, tea, juice, soda, and just about everything he could think of, half of which he didn’t even have.

Randy commented on the new art on the east living room wall, Gale explained that the previous tenant had hung it. Randy asked how long Gale had been in Toronto already, Gale told him the days. Gale was sitting on the sofa, all the while staring at the mini cactus that Randy slowly spun around.

Gale sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Rands, I—”

“Do you still feel the way you said you did when you came to see me three weeks ago?”

Gale’s hand dropped heavily on his thigh. “I do.”

Randy just nodded, staring down at the fake oriental rug. Gale had found it at some flea market a couple of years back and Randy had helped moving around the furniture to accommodate the thing.

Gale tried not to jerk when Randy suddenly got up and sat next to him. The space between them felt wrong.

He felt tentative fingers in his hair and almost wanted to cry. He hadn’t been aware of how much he’d longed for Randy’s touch. Little touches, even. Those that used to happen so naturally and frequently between them. Those that had always felt better than with anybody else.

“What about you?” Gale asked through dry lips.

A sigh. Then, “I still feel the way I have for the past two years.”

“You… ?” Words were failing Gale, as they so often did.

Randy scooted closer. Closer still, and Gale thought he was going to have a heart-attack. Randy’s forehead came to rest against his temple, and Gale felt the air that left Randy’s mouth flow around his neck.

“Do you… Do you think we could… _try_?” Randy whispered.

Gale didn’t want to try. Fuck trying. Gale wanted to have, to fully indulge. He turned his head, palm against Randy’s soft cheek. “No,” he said and watched Randy’s gaze grow dim. “We don’t _try_.”

And his fingers tangled in Randy’s nape and he yanked him forward. Gale kissed and probed and touched, and Randy still wasn’t close enough. His hands moved down, pulled, and Randy was in his lap.

Randy sighed, and gasped, and moaned. Gale tasted, and wished, and loved.

When Randy started his descent, Gale wanted to scream. Urgent hands tugged on his jeans, and Gale missed them every second they weren’t touching his skin instead.

He was inhaled, he was devoured. With a nose pressed into his pubes, lips just barely sliding over his length and sucking into the skin covering his loins, a tongue lapping at his balls, Gale was panting, clenching his stomach and bursting into flames.

Then, slowly, Randy took him in his mouth, sucking softly on the head and his tongue pressing _just there_. Gale was flying, overdosing, and his head thrashed in its spot between back of the sofa and armrest. Gale found Randy’s fingers and threaded them with his.

He held on, and Randy set him free.

Randy tasted like him later, after Gale had pulled him up. He tasted like forever.

“Rands, I…”

“What?” Wet lips moved against his cheek, a hard body pressed against his own.

“I think I—…”

“You _think_?”

“I’m actually pretty sure.”

“Yeah? How sure?”

“99 percent sure.” Gale gulped. He wanted to tell him—he felt the words on the tip of his tongue. But then Randy licked his lips and stroked his thumbs over Gale’s jaw. And Gale fucking lived for that.

Later, when he had Randy pressed against him and so deep inside him that he felt him in every pore, Gale tore his favorite pillow case.

Randy rotated his hips _just so_ , never leaving Gale’s body, giving, nudging, pressuring that bundle of nerves to ecstasy.

Gale’s knees buckled, gave out, and he knew what completion meant.

 

::

 

When Randy would wake up the next morning, it would be to an empty bed.

He would panic for a minute. Then, he’d find a little frog sitting in the middle of the bed.

 

 _~ I used to think that the day would never come  
I'd see delight in the shade of the morning sun ~_

 _Brian is tricking early today._

 _See you at lunch?_

 _I love ~~my Flowbee!~~ you,  
x_

 

 **:: LATER ::**

 

\-----------------------------------------------  
 **Date:** July 10 2004, 16:32 pm  
 **Subject:** Re: Photo Shoot for Vanity Fair  
\-----------------------------------------------

This is an automated response. I am not reachable via email till ~August 30, as I’m currently on vacation in China.

For anything work-related, please email my agent at emma@paradigmagency.com. For anything urgent please email to gharold@gmail.com, because he can’t stay away from his email and will check it regularly.

Regards,

Randy

 

 **:: The End ::**


End file.
